


New Year’s Eve In Sussex

by Random_Nexus



Series: "Threesome Parallel" - Canon-Based Sherlock Holmes AU [19]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Holidays, Multi, New Year's Eve, Polyamory, Prompt Fic, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome Parallel, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: The Watsons and Holmes spend a cozy New Year's Eve at home.Written for: In choosing the 31st as my day to write this for theWAdvent 2019event at theWatsons Woescommunity, I made my own prompt simply 'New Year's Eve'.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Mary Morstan/John Watson
Series: "Threesome Parallel" - Canon-Based Sherlock Holmes AU [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/10215
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: Watson's Woes WAdvent 2019





	New Year’s Eve In Sussex

**Author's Note:**

> I had a heck of a time deciding what to write, but then I had a dream a couple of days after Christmas about New Year's Eve at one of my fav AUs - which I call the 'Threesome Parallel' - and it answered my dilemma. This is fluffy, cozy, and has no socially redeeming value other than to indulge my adoration of happy 'endings' and the idea of these folks retiring to that nearly legendary cottage on the Sussex Downs. I think you can read this well enough without having read the rest of the Threesome Parallel series, but it will certainly help. Either way, I hope some of you will enjoy it. Happy New Year, dear readers.

**31st January 1919/1st January 1920**  
  
Watson wasn’t certain at first what woke him from his comfortable doze, cracking an eyelid to see the still-burning fire in the grate before him, and aware of the warm weight against his right side. Inhaling his way into a yawn, he flexed his toes in the cozy slippers he’d got for Christmas, a very welcome gift from Mary, but did not remove them from the padded footstool; partially due to the fact that Mary’s thickly-stockinged feet were tucked into the gap between his ankles and the edge of the footstool. It was the distant sound of church bells that kept him from drifting back to sleep, as well as wondering where Holmes had gone, since the last Watson knew, he had been snug against Watson’s left side on the sofa.

Movement near the windows to his left had Watson turning his head even as he recognised Holmes coming towards him. “Happy New Year,” Holmes said softly. Pausing only to set his pipe upon the mantel, he then eased back down onto the sofa, lifting the edge of the knitted throw over his legs.

Smiling ruefully, Watson reached for Holmes’ hand, finding it cold and happy enough to press it against his thigh to warm it. “Of course we dozed off and missed the moment,” he murmured, leaning up for a kiss.

Holmes met him halfway, twining their fingers together and smiling a little, eyes bright amidst wrinkles that were more from laughter than not these days. “Well, we’re not as young as we used to be, my dear. I expect we should be grateful to have another year together, with everyone in good health.”

“I suppose,” Watson agreed on a nostalgic sigh. “I can’t help but miss the days when we sometimes went days without sleep and hardly ever missed a midnight.”

“I must still be asleep,” Mary said drowsily without lifting her head Watson’s shoulder, “you’re both saying each other’s lines.” Opening her eyes, still a beautiful blue, despite a few wrinkles of her own, she smiled sweetly when Watson chuckled and Holmes gave a soft snort of dismissal. “Happy new year, my loves.”

Holmes leaned past Watson to give Mary a kiss, too, and Watson turned to share a kiss with her in his turn. “Sure you aren’t missing any of those London parties we were invited to, darling?” Watson asked her half teasingly.

Mary’s snort sounded surprisingly like Holmes’. “What, so I might be rudely dozing off in the corner of someone’s noisy parlour or ballroom instead of in my own home, where I’ve a right?”

“It might have been worth it,” Holmes mused, settling in a bit more into Watsons side, his tone shifting toward derisive, “if only to have a better look that young cloth-head fancying himself an Inspector at the Yard, no doubt making a fool of himself at Lestrade’s party right this moment.”

“Come now,” Watson chided smilingly, “you only fuss about him because Violet’s got her eye on him.”

“You know very well that Mycroft took an interest in him when she first started going moony over him,” Mary said, teasing humour in her voice.

“I should take it more seriously if the young minx hadn’t wrapped old Uncle Mycroft around her little finger,” Holmes grumbled sourly, but there was no real rancor in it. They all knew Mycroft Holmes might have lost some of his mobility with age—being seven years Sherlock’s senior—but his mental acuity, like his younger brother’s, was still greater than that of most men; furthermore, the elder Holmes brother took a very protective stance when it came to his nieces and nephew-by-proxy, as well as their parents, the Watsons who were so dear to Sherlock Holmes’ heart. If there were any damning fault to be found in Thomas Doyle, who’d been promoted to Inspector after their old friend Lestrade had retired, Mycroft would most certainly have brought it to light.

“Pft!” Watson dismissed with a puff of air through his lips and humour in his expression and tone. “Stop looking for things to grouse about and fetch us that bottle of brandy I hid in my study. We ought to toast in the new year.”

With a put-upon sigh, Holmes went to perform the task asked of him; though he didn’t protest for an instant that he knew where Watson had hid that brandy without Watson telling him. Retirement hadn’t done much to dull Holmes’ natural curiosity and cleverness, despite his having resisted it until he was well into his fifties. Watson, who’d been on the cusp of his sixties at the time, had been torn between relief and regret, and had never lost his patience with any grumbling Holmes had done about said retirement; they’d both had a good run of it, all things considered, and the fact that they were both alive and generally well was more luck than Watson would have assayed them at the start of their unusual partnership.

Holmes returned with three tumblers and the bottle of rather fine brandy Watson had squirrelled away upon receiving it from his agent—who, coincidentally, was the father of that ‘cloth-head’, Inspector Doyle. Watson decided not to mention that part as Holmes perched himself on the footstool, instead of reclaiming the spot at the end of the sofa.

Opening the brandy, Watson poured a small measure for each of them. “I suppose we ought to be having champagne, but I rather prefer this, to be honest.”

“We haven’t any champagne, anyhow,” Mary said pragmatically, taking her tumbler and inhaling over it with a little quirk of her lips—not quite a smile, but near enough.

A soft breath of amusement left Holmes, who then nodded and murmured, “Just as well. Who’d post bail?” One of their anniversaries had involved far, far too much champagne and some drunken hijinks that nearly got all three of them arrested in Paris.

With a mock stern expression, Mary said in French, _“Hush, now, my dear troublemaker.”_

Watson took a moment to work out why Holmes was sniggering, but then he’d never been as good at the language as Holmes or Mary, though he was smiling fondly as he handed the bottle off for Holmes to use one of his long arms to set upon the occasional table at the end of the sofa.

Lifting his tumbler, Watson looked at both of them, the loves of his life, and couldn’t help the grin that stretch his lips as he said, “Here’s to another year with the people I hold most dear!”

“Hear, hear!” Mary added with the quaver of laughter in her voice, “A very happy New Year to us all!”

“Happy New Year, indeed,” Holmes confirmed, nodding as they touched their glasses together and all took an enthusiastic drink. After they’d all swallowed, Holmes leaned over to plant a firm kiss upon Watson’s lips, and then gave Mary the same.

Mary’s eyes held a bright twinkle and she was smiling as she pulled Holmes back into another, deeper kiss by the lapel of his dressing gown. Watson enjoyed seeing them together, as he long had done, and took another sip of his brandy without taking his eyes off of them. When they parted, Mary gave a little tilt of her head in Watson’s direction, pink touching her cheeks that Watson would have bet was more than just the result of the brandy.

Taking the obvious hint/instruction to heart, Holmes did not hesitate to lean towards Watson again, bringing their lips together with gentle thoroughness. Watson hummed in the back of his throat at the familiar, always welcome, touch of his lover’s mouth, the twining of their tongues, and the feel of Holmes’ free hand coming to rest against his jaw.

When they broke the kiss some moments later, Watson heard Mary sigh happily, “I shall never grow tired of how lovely you two look together.”

Watson knew, after all these years that it was probably a bit silly how the colour rose to his own cheeks, but he could hardly prevent it. He leaned over to kiss Mary with as much loving tenderness as he’d just shared with Holmes.

“I think we should take ourselves to bed and celebrate the New Year properly,” Holmes suggested with the velvety undertone of desire in his voice. “After all, we’ve the house to ourselves till late tomorrow.”

Mary hummed in agreement as Watson released her mouth with a last little nip to her lower lip. Sitting back enough to toss back the last of her brandy, she placed her emptied tumbler on the side table at her end of the sofa and held out her hand. “I think that proves, yet again, who’s the clever one in the family, my dear Sherlock.”

“My blushes, Mrs. Watson.” Holmes replied softly, finishing his own drink and handing her the emptied glass, which she placed next to her own.

Following suit, Watson offered his own empty tumbler before rising from the sofa and holding out a hand to each of his beloveds. “Shall we have our own little New Year’s party, then, my dears?”

Pausing only long enough to put out the lights and leaving the fire to burn down behind the fire screen, they did, indeed retire to celebrate a very Happy New Year.


End file.
